


Some Things Are Meant To Be

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Reincarnation, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, THIS IS NOT ANGST, ashe comes in at the beginning of the fic, established caspar/linhardt, its fun and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Everyone is born with their soulmate's name written on their forearm. Caspar always knew he would meet Linhardt. It's just that unlike everyone else, Caspar has something else on his arm too.Poly Soulmate Au!





	1. Caspar

The breath is torn from his chest when Caspar’s shoulders hit the grass. He turns his eyes up to the chuckling face of his attacker, and a grin slides onto his face as well. “Guess I lose this round,” he hears himself say like an out of body experience. 

He doesn’t know his name, and maybe that’s why he knows this is a dream. It’s a tug at the back of his mind telling him it’s just too unreal to be more than a fantasy. He doesn’t know his name, but the face of the man who stands over him is so familiar it aches in his chest. He settles down in Caspar’s lap just as he’s beginning to sit up. He settles straddling him on his knees. 

Caspar can’t help thinking he’s gorgeous. His eyes are so startlingly crisp and bright, and his hair is like silver starlight. He tucks some of it behind his ear--pointless, it always falls back down anyway--and he finally lets out a beautiful, melodic laugh. It’s the only echo of his voice Caspar gets. 

Caspar doesn’t know his name or the sound of his voice but his mind supplies him with endless other tidbits of useless information. The fact that his eyes are minty like the tea that he likes to drink, or that the freckles on one of his cheeks make a shape almost like a heart if you look hard enough. He knows that he’s playing with him, about to tease him for falling--but never make fun of him. 

His heart pounds louder and louder in his chest and in his ears. He doesn’t know who he is, but he knows this is the love of his life. The nameless man lifts his fingertips to card through Caspar’s bangs. He settles with one hand there on his cheek and guides him forward. His eyes slide closed, light-colored lashes kiss his cheeks, and he moves closer. Caspar naturally leans into the gesture, and their lips meet in a kiss. 

Or, that is, they would meet in a kiss if this wasn’t the part of the dream where Caspar always wakes up. 

This time when he wakes up he squints away the light of mid-morning coming in through the corners of the closed curtains. He’s tangled up with the  _ real _ love of his life. Linhardt is sleeping with his face tucked into Caspar’s arm. He’s making a noise almost like a snore but he doesn’t snore usually--it’s because his nose is squished against Caspar. His hair is frizzy and tangled, but his breathing is so soft and slow. He’s beautiful. He’s Caspar’s  _ real _ soulmate… and Caspar doesn’t want anyone else.

…

“You’re moping,” Linhardt says later that same morning. He’s much more put together now, with his hair washed and combed and braided down one shoulder. He’s pouring his second cup of coffee, or maybe his third. Caspar admittedly wasn’t paying much attention. To that or their conversation. He’s just been staring at Linhardt’s hand, at the engagement ring on his finger, thinking about how much he loves him and how these dreams are driving him up the wall. 

Linhardt strolls closer to him and sits, carefully, beside him with his cup. “You know I don’t prefer guessing games,” he says with a soft voice. He nudges Caspar’s arm gently with his shoulder. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” Caspar looks at him, opens his mouth, and then looks away. Linhardt hums thoughtfully. “Oh. It was that dream again. The one about the man.” 

“Yeah…” Caspar’s frown is too tight, the tension in his jaw almost aches. He doesn’t want these dreams--he didn’t ask for them! 

“Last time you only told me it was a romantic dream.” Linhardt turns on the sofa to face Caspar better. He pulls his long legs up onto their couch with him and even though his face sometimes looks completely disinterested in everyday conversation, his eyes are alert and his attention is on his fiance. “Tell me more about it.” 

“It’s too weird!” Caspar shakes his head. How can he? But Linhardt only rolls his eyes. 

“Caspar, it’s perfectly normal to have dreams about emotional or physical relationships with other people. What’s abnormal is for the same one to reoccur. It could have something to do with your lifestyle or suppressed feelings or fears.” 

“I’m not afraid…” Caspar rolls his eyes right back. 

“Maybe you’re dreaming of running away with another man because you’re nervous about the wedding?” Linhardt suggests. 

That lights a fire in Caspar. “Hey! I am  _ not.”  _ He’s not afraid to marry Lin--he loves him! But it also doesn’t make any sense. “Besides, I don’t meet him in my dreams. I know him--I know everything about him. It’s like I’ve been with him forever.” He blushes and pushes his hands into his lap, nervously. 

Talking about it is weird because he doesn’t want Linhardt to be angry or jealous or something. He knows he won’t, at least not outwardly, but what if he is a little bit and doesn’t say as much? That’s worse. He doesn’t look jealous, though. He sets the coffee cup down on the messy table beside the sofa and nods his head. “Alright. So you’ve known him. And what happens in the dream?” 

“Nothing.” Like literally nothing, but Linhardt gives him that  _ look _ with his pretty brow raised up high and so Caspar elaborates all he can. “Okay! Fine. I trip and fall on my ass, and he stands over me and smiles and,” while he recants it, he wants to be agitated. He wants to be embarrassed that he’s being asked, but he just thinks about that face. He can’t see it. What color was his hair again? Oh--his eyes were green, like mints, weren’t they? “He smiles at me, and he crouches down, but instead of helping me he just kisses me and laughs and… That’s it.” 

“Interesting.” Linhardt doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Caspar gets a little squirmy during that time, thinking about the man again. If he’s so important why can’t he ever remember his face when he wakes up? And he never knows his name, he doesn’t ever think to ask in the dream. He doesn’t think he could anyway, it’s more like watching a scene play out than actually being a part of it. A play where a pretty man he’s in love with kisses him.

He sighs dramatically and hides his blush behind scratching his nose. He can’t remember the man’s face, but he remembers the swell of happiness and love he had. The love of his life, he thought. How stupid. Just as he’s about to put his hand back in his lap Linhardt reaches out and grips his wrist. It’s a gentle grip, but he turns Caspar’s arm over. 

Linhardt’s name is written on his arm. It’s dark, black, and written in his chicken-scratch handwriting he uses to take notes. It’s been on his arm since the day he was born. That’s what makes them soulmates. Or, well, that’s how he identified it. Okay, not really. He knew Lin was his soulmate the moment they met because when their eyes landed on each other his heart got fluttery and his cheeks flushed and he felt like he was looking into a mirror. But it wasn’t really a mirror, it was like a window where if he touched the glass he wouldn’t see himself, but just a missing part of him. His other half. 

He’s not good at describing the feeling. Since then it’s ebbed, of course. When he sees Linhardt now he’s still happy and proud and in love, but it’s not so overwhelming that his heart skips a beat. Not all the time. Goddess, but when he catches his eye across the room and does that cute tiny smile… 

Whatever. He clears his throat and looks from his arm and back up to Linhardt. He almost knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “Could it be…” Linhardt whispers. 

Caspar looks back at his arm. Everyone is born with a soulmate mark. Most everyone anyway. The people who aren’t are called  _ lonelies  _ and they’re often pitied. Most of them don’t care. Caspar doesn’t know if he pities them for not having soulmates or if he thinks they have a lot more freedom in what they do with their lives because of it. Dating is hard when you know you’re going to break up with someone for your soulmate eventually, after all. 

Anyway, most everyone is born with the name of their soulmate, in their soulmate’s handwriting, scrawled down their inner forearm. That’s normal. Caspar’s is a little messed up, though. Beneath Linhardt’s name, there’s something else, faded and grey. It’s almost like a bruise, but when you look close there are symbols. Letters, but not in any language Caspar knows. 

Every now and then it happens, his doctor told his father who relayed it to him when he was old enough to wonder. The name of a soulmate from a past life will stay, but it means nothing. You won’t meet that soulmate, he was told. They’re not real. Caspar wasn’t sure about that until he met Lin, and he fell hard and fast for him. Linhardt is his whole  _ world.  _ They met in high school and they’ve stuck together since then. Now they’re out on their own in this big city and tiny apartment, and they’re going to get married. It’s perfect. That’s why he’s already starting to groan before Linhardt even says: “Do you think you’re dreaming of your other soulmate?” 

Yeah. The feelings he gets from that man are definitely the feelings he gets from Lin, but there’s just one problem: “He’s not real. I mean either of them. Dream guy and this other person on my arm, neither of them are real. Remember?” 

“This is it,” Linhardt says. “I’m certain of it, Caspar. You’re about to commit your life to me and your inner psyche is wondering if you’re missing out on this other soulmate. You’re conjuring dreams because you want to know who it is, but you can’t know--you don’t know his name because we  _ don’t know his name.”  _

Of course they don’t know the name on Caspar’s arm. For one thing, the characters aren’t in Common and for another, parts of them are scribbled out by Linhardt’s name running right overtop it. “But he’s not  _ real!”  _

“Well, I don’t know why that would be true.” Linhardt shifts around until he pulls his phone from his pocket. Caspar starts to pull his arm away but that loving hold turns into a vice grip. It earns him an angry stare. “Hold still,” he says while he snaps a few pictures on his phone of the mark. “I’m not sure why I didn’t translate this before, but I think doing so now will help you.” 

“Help me  _ what? _ ” 

“He might be real, Caspar. I know that you’ve always assumed he wasn’t, but this man could be out there right now. He could be in this city, waiting to meet you.” 

“Look, Lin, did you forget that we’re getting married? I don’t  _ want _ to meet another soulmate, even if he was real. I’ve got you; you’re all I want.” He reaches out and pulls on Linhardt’s hand, and for a moment his eyes soften and he leans closer to bump his nose against Caspar’s. 

“I know that,” he says gently. He slips their fingers together so they’re holding hands properly. “I wouldn’t be willing to give you up, either. But I think you need some closure. If you’re here, living a second life, maybe he is too. And maybe he’s married, happy, with his own soulmate. Maybe the two of you will recognize one another?” 

“But…” That would just be weird. What if he met that guy and he was happy and Caspar was happy but they had to live with knowing  _ hey, I was in love with that guy in another life?  _ He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Lin…” 

“Let me at least translate it. I should have done that much ages ago.” Caspar makes a face sort of like a wince. He’s not so sure he wants to know. He doesn’t want to know if that man is real or if he’s just a dream. He sort of liked it better when Linhardt was accusing him of having cold feet. 

“I don’t want something to mess up what we have…” 

Linhardt leans closer and kisses him. His lips are soft and sweet like the caramel creamer he likes to put in his coffee. He feels him gently squeeze their hands together tighter. “You, my dear, are at no risk of messing up what we have. Don’t worry. You will always have me.” 


	2. Ashe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll see the POV alternate between chapters back and forth, but to avoid confusion the chapter title is the pov.

“Did you even sleep last night?” 

The words wash over Ashe more than they startle him. He’s hunched over a bowl of cereal with his head in one hand and, admittedly, he’s dozing. Another minute and Christophe may have found him with his face in the bowl. When he looks back up at his older brother, however, he’s setting a cup of coffee that he probably poured for himself in front of Ashe. 

Christophe looks bright and perky in the mornings. He’s always been an early riser, wakes with the sun, faces the day head on. Ashe isn’t against being a morning person, it’s just hard lately. Christophe looks bright and happy with that handsome smile and the honey brown hair he has combed perfectly. Ashe looks like a marshmallow melted into a bowl of cereal. Ashe envies him. He envies his energy, his peppy voice, all of it. He has no energy to spare on anything except dragging the hot coffee to his lips and burning his tongue on it. 

On a normal day, Ashe doesn’t envy Christophe’s appearance too much. He’s his stepbrother, so obviously there are physical differences between them. First and foremost that Christophe looks like he fell out of a fairytale and he’s prince charming waiting to sweep someone off their feet. It’s fine--Ashe has a lot going for him too. Just other things that don’t include being delightfully tall or super muscular. “I slept,” he says, as an afterthought. 

“Don’t you think this is going to be a little too hard on you?” Christophe asks. Ashe watches him pour another cup of coffee and he sits across the table from him. Ashe stirs around his spoon in his cereal. 

“I can do it.” 

Enbarr is a three and a half-hour drive away from his home. He’s never been there before in his life, but when he told Lonato that he wanted to uproot from the university he was attending and transfer there, he was mostly supportive. He had the same concerns that Christophe has. Mostly about Ashe’s ability to sleep. 

There are no available dorms up there, but Ashe wouldn’t take no for an answer. He lined up a job at the library to work between and after classes, and he drives. Three and a half hours. Both ways. Every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. It’s exhausting him to get home sometimes after midnight and get up at six to do it all over again, but he’s going to be fine. 

“Why Enbarr?” Christophe asks as if Ashe has an answer. He doesn’t have an answer. He just shakes his head. He doesn’t know why. He can’t explain any of it. He just feels like… something is there. Maybe it’s the best choice for his education. Maybe he’ll find a start to an incredible career. Maybe he’ll have wasted his time. “I’m not against it kiddo, but I don’t get it. Can’t you take those same classes here?” 

He’s just compelled. Ashe has never suffered from wanderlust like this before, but the itching in his fingertips to get to  _ Enbarr  _ specifically was too strong to resist. He’s glad he’s there. When he’s there he feels like he’s on the right track to  _ something.  _

His silence must give away that he doesn’t know the answer. Christophe nods his head and stands up from the table. “Alright. But it doesn’t matter how many degrees you get, you’re still my baby brother.”

…

Ashe feels like he’s not even in his own body. He feels like he’s floating. His eyes are above him, looking at the stars. The very same stars he’s always looked at, and yet somehow different. “I wish it was the other way around,” He says. His voice is his own, but it’s like an echo of reality. “I wish it was me instead of you.”

Beside him, he hears a subtle chuckle. He turns his head just slightly, but he can’t see the person beside him. He can just hear his little laugh and feel his face where it’s tucked into Ashe’s neck. “You know it doesn’t bother me,” he says so soft that Ashe doesn’t even know if he’s speaking at all. 

“I just worry about it,” Ashe answers, his own voice growing softer. He squeezes his hand. “Even if it doesn’t bother you. It isn’t fair. I wish it were me.”

“I would never wish this on you, dear.” 

Ashe’s heart skips a beat and he startles awake. He’s had this dream before, he feels. It’s familiar, but he can’t be certain. A voice he can never remember and a face he can never see… he turns off the buzzing of his alarm clock and gets ready to drive to Enbarr for the day.

…

Ashe is still thinking about that dream at work, later that evening. He’s just taking some books that were dropped off and scanning them back into the library. He’s at a computer, seated behind the front desk, and he’s doing mindless work while his brain runs wild. The way that dream makes him feel is the closest thing to  _ in love _ he thinks he’s ever felt. Like he’s next to his  _ soulmate.  _ He feels like he belongs there. But he also feels the sense of loss. Something isn’t right in that dream. Something is  _ wrong,  _ and he has no idea what. 

The more pressing issue isn’t that his imaginary soulmate has something wrong with him. It’s that Ashe doesn’t actually  _ have _ a soulmate. There on his arm where everyone else he’s ever met has a name written down guiding them to true love, all Ashe has is a splattering of grey, odd symbols and the promise from a doctor that his past life is irrelevant and the marking means nothing. He’s a Lonely. 

Being a Lonely never bothered him as a kid. When he was swept up in taking care of his younger siblings when they lost their parents, he didn’t have time to care about dumb things like cooties. When he was 16 and finally living a semblance of a normal life with his adoptive father and stepbrother, he was catching up on an education he nearly missed out on. Now he’s twenty-two, working on a graduate’s degree, and he still doesn’t think he has the time for love. 

But he wants it. He wants to fall into someone’s arms like the character in a romance. He wants to know what it feels like to be held tenderly, to be kissed, and hell if he doesn’t want to know what it’s like to be loved. He is  _ embarrassingly _ obsessed with tales of Lonely people finding happiness. The shame of it all is that… well, it’s just not likely. 

Why would you ever fall in love with a Lonely when you have your own soulmate out there, waiting for you? And, for that matter, if you  _ are  _ a Lonely, why would you waste your time chasing after a love you’re never going to have? Even a relationship with another Lonely person doesn’t promise happiness. The whole point of being Lonely is that you are  _ alone.  _ You do not have a perfect match out there in the world, waiting for you. There isn’t someone looking at their arm, yearning to meet you. You’re just you. Alone. 

The marking on Ashe’s arm is in a dead language. He doesn’t even know how to begin to translate it, but now that he works here in the library he probably could. Even if he did, what would he gain? Nothing except the name of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. But… it would still be nice. Ashe can imagine it. Someone, in another life, wanted him. Needed him. Someone looked at him like he was their whole world. Someone thought he was attractive, funny, or even perfect. 

“Hello.” 

Ashe startles and drops the scanner in his hand. He gasps and pushes it aside, embarrassed. “I--Er, hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you come in.” 

How could he not notice, though? The library’s welcome desk is right in front of the door, and everyone passes it on their way in. He shakes it off and looks them over. Two men, shoulders close enough that they must be  _ together.  _ The taller of the two has dark hair, styled in a lazy looking half-up sort of way that looks incredibly handsome despite also looking like he woke up and did that instead of bothering to brush it out. He’s the one who speaks up. “It’s no problem. I’ve just got this book to return, but I have one on hold to pick up.” 

Ashe nods his head at him. He glances at the other man. He’s just about the same height as Ashe, his hair is brighter, his eyes are bright as a summer sky… and something about him makes Ashe’s chest hurt. It tightens up like a violin string drawn so tight it might snap. He isn’t sure what the feeling is. He’s not sad, but his eyes prickle for an awkward second. He’s not sure that he’s happy. He thinks he might just be numb. He’s the one holding the book, and when their eyes meet and she takes it from his hand, he looks just as alarmed as Ashe does. Maybe more alarmed. 

“Whats, um,” Ashe tugs his eyes back to the other man. “What is the name your book is under?” 

“Von Hevring. Linhardt,” He answers, sparing a glance at the man at his side as well. He nudges him with his arm, raises his brow, but then he doesn’t say anything to him about how he’s staring at Ashe like he’s seen a ghost. 

Ashe peels his eyes away from them and scrolls through the reservations on the computer. “Well, Mr. Linhardt, I’m Ashe, and if you give me just a second I’ll get that book for you,” he says politely. He starts to step away to dig the book from the over-stuffed shelf of reservations, but he hesitates because both of them are staring at him again. 

“Ashe with an ‘e’,” Linhardt says, gesturing to the nametag Ashe has pinned to his shirt. “Isn’t that interesting spelling,  _ Caspar?”  _

Caspar. That’s the other man’s name? He literally bolts out the front door like he’s just robbed the place, leaving Linhardt and Ashe to stare after him. Caspar. Ashe’s chest hurts again. He shakes his head and goes to fetch the book. He returns with it and passes it to Linhardt, and he quietly says, “Is he alright?” 

“He’s just not feeling well,” Linhardt says, and he waves it off as nothing important. That sounds like it’s not true, but Ashe doesn’t know them. Who is he to pry? “Have you worked here long?” 

“No, I,” Ashe looks down at the book in Linhardt’s hand. That’s the right one, isn’t it? He doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Surely Linhardt isn't asking because he thinks Ashe is incompetent. He glances back up. Wow, this man is pretty. Oh, and now that he’s got a good look at his hand, he’s wearing a ring. Maybe those two are married? He doesn’t know why that matters, but in the back of his mind, it does. “I’ve been here for about two weeks.” 

“Ah, I see. I was wondering if that book club they’ve got advertised,” he taps his finger against the little sign for it on the desk, “is worthwhile.” 

Ashe can’t help the smile that slips back onto his face. “Oh! That was my idea, actually. You sign up and get paired with someone, and you read one of their favorite books by recommendation. It’s sort of more of an exchange than a club… but it’s really fun.” 

“Oh? So does that mean you’ll be hosting it?” Linhardt says. “Maybe I’ll drop in. You can help me find a good partner, surely.” 

“Uh, yeah.” Ashe will be there.

“Good. I’ll see you then. Have a good day, Ashe with an ‘e’.” Linhardt turns and leaves, book in-hand, and Ashe watches him open the door and step out onto the sidewalk. Through the glass, he can see him touch Caspar’s arm, and he sees Caspar shoot him a nervous glance… and then they leave. 

Ashe glances down at the book he just left to be checked in. It’s a book on various old languages and cultures, oddly enough… and he scans it to be reshelved. 


	3. Caspar

“That was him then, wasn’t it?” Linhardt asks. Caspar can barely breathe, let alone answer the question. His heart is still racing, and the further they walk down the street and away from the library the more he’s torn between running back and running as far away as possible. 

When their eyes met Caspar felt something he'd only felt one time before. He felt it when he first met eyes with Lin, too. Static that traveled from head to toe, and this deep, gnawing feeling that he was  _ meant _ to be looking at him. Right in that moment, he was looking at the man of his dreams. But like, literally. That was the man. Minty eyes, the splattering of freckles, the name hidden under Linhardt’s on Caspar’s arm. Ashe with an ‘e’ at the end. 

They only just translated the name last night, and it sounded so familiar that Caspar wasn’t even surprised. And now he knows he’s real. It’s giving him a headache already. If Ashe is real, he’s not just a figment of his imagination, does he remember Caspar too? Does he dream about him? And his voice--wow his voice was never in the dreams, but it was also  _ so  _ familiar

They start to pass by a little park bench, but before he can continue on his bee-line home--they were supposed to go to the grocery store after that, not home--Linhardt tugs on his wrist and pulls him down onto the bench. Or, well, he sits on the bench and the weight of it pulls Caspar back as well. “Caspar. Breathe.” 

Is he holding his breath? Caspar settles onto the bench and turns his focus to gripping the fabric of his jeans. His knuckles turn white before Lin settles gentle fingers on his jaw and redirects his attention to him instead. “I said breathe, Caspar.” 

“I am!” Caspar sputters, pathetically. It’s just that his whole life is messed up now. He’s getting married. He’s getting married  _ soon _ and he just looked at another man and thought about what it would be like to hold his hand or play with his hair or kiss him and it all happened in one  _ life-shattering  _ moment. “I’m breathing, I’m fine. Are you fine? I’m fine.”

“I’m fine,” Linhardt says, but his tone is flat and Caspar knows he’s only saying it to humor him. “So are you. You’re just fine, dear.” He taps his thumb against Caspar’s cheek. “Now. What would you like to do? I hadn’t imagined you would meet him so soon after learning his name.” 

What does he want to do? He wants to hide. “Are you mad?” 

Linhardt dips his head to the side. His hair topples a little bit in that way that’s totally irresistible. He opens his mouth, parts those pretty lips to probably ask Caspar if he’s insane but before he can Caspar shoves forward into a kiss. He thinks it’s just because his fiance is super cute, but once their lips hit and the electricity dies out he realizes it’s more than that. It’s because he’s so nervous.

What if Lin gets mad and leaves him because Caspar made goo goo eyes at someone else? Still, with a gentle push to make Caspar back off, Linhardt smiles at him warmer than ever. “It baffles me how you can assume I’ll reprimand you for things outside of your control.” Caspar takes a few deep breaths after that. He settles down onto the bench and watches Linhardt reach for his hand and squeeze it, gently. “I did notice something odd, though,” he says. Caspar laughs. 

“About me? What did I do this time?” 

“Oh, no, not you dear.” Linhardt brushes the back of his fingers along Caspar’s cheek. “You behaved like a fool when we met too. That was to be expected. What struck me as odd is the way that Ashe behaved.” 

“Oh. I didn’t notice.” 

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “Well you had run outside. He didn’t act like he knew you were his soulmate, is my point. He seemed… collected.”

“Oh.” Caspar is trying to calm his racing heart, so it’s hard for him to focus on the ins and outs of someone else’s life. “Maybe he doesn’t remember me?” That’s good! Then he can’t interfere with Caspar’s marriage at all! Not that he would. Gods, now that he’s seen him a lot of those dreams feel more real. He thinks he knows a lot about Ashe. He thinks he knows he would never purposefully wreck something that… “Oh.” he says again. 

“Use your words,” Linhardt says. Caspar rolls his eyes. 

“Ashe just… I don’t know.” Saying his name out loud feels weird. Like a combination of static electricity and ice on the tip of his tongue. “He isn’t the kind of person to butt in.” 

“You know what sort of person he is?” Linhardt asks. Caspar’s heart gets rapid again. He’s already opening his mouth to protest that no, he has no idea. They’ve never met! Part way through the first syllable Linhardt interrupts. “He’s hosting a book club at the library. I’m going to attend.” 

“You  _ what?!”  _ Caspar squawks. “Why?” 

“I want to get to know him. I want to know why he didn’t react to you the way you reacted to him.” 

“Probably because he’s not my soulmate,” Caspar mutters. 

“You’re pouting,” Linhardt hums. If he’s implying that he should suck it up and let Lin work through his curiosity or that Caspar is feeling a little rejected by Ashe he doesn’t say. Caspar doesn’t want to know anyway. 

…

Caspar didn’t want to come to this book club thing. He wanted to let Lin handle it all on his own, but then his curiosity got the best of him… so he’s sitting off to the side on a sofa. There aren’t too terribly many people at the little event. Club. Whatever. There’s actually an odd number of people, which Lin probably willed into reality, because it meant he could convince Ashe to be  _ his _ book recommendation partner. 

Caspar doesn’t know what they’re talking about from over here, but he  _ does _ know that Linhardt is flirting. He’s not jealous or anything. Well, okay, he’s a  _ little _ jealous, but he knew it would happen. Linhardt does it on accident sometimes as a way to get what he wants, which is usually more information on what he’s interested in. Right now he’s interested in Ashe and Caspar and how the pieces of their lives used to fit together. 

He’s about to turn around and play on his phone for the last few minutes of the event, until he hears Ashe yelp. 

It’s not a bad yelp. Not a yelp of pain. Caspar’s head spins.  _ Why _ would he know--so specifically--what it sounds like when Ashe is in pain? He presses his lips together and shakes it off. This past-life nonsense is stupid. He doesn’t know who Ashe is at all. They’re strangers. 

“I really don’t think it’s necessary,” 

“Oh, really, I insist--” 

Caspar stands up to join his fiance and his… acquaintance. “Lin..?” He asks. Linhardt finally stops dragging Ashe closer when they’re standing together by Caspar. 

“Caspar, Ashe has just told me a little about himself. Did you know he lives all the way in Gaspard?” 

“Huh.” Actually that sounds weirdly familiar too, but Caspar shrugs his shoulders. “That’s a pretty long drive.” 

“I said the same thing.” 

“It’s not so bad!” Ashe argues. He’s hugging the book Linhardt recommended to him to his chest. Caspar recognizes that cover, Lin has read that thing thirty times. “Really, it’s worth it.” 

“Sounds like a pain,” Caspar admits. Even though he doesn’t want anything to do with Ashe, it’s hard to feel that way when he’s right there. He’s  _ handsome.  _ Just like in the dreams. He’s tucking his silvery bangs behind his ear and that heart-shaped freckle pattern is still on his cheek. It’s outrageous. Maybe he can settle for being friendly instead of ignoring him. “Hey, how come you work all the way out here anyway?” 

“Well I go to school here, but the dorms are full. I transferred in mid-semester. It’s really not that much of a hassle…” 

“What made you choose Enbarr?” Linhardt asks. Ashe’s eyes land on Caspar, like he was the one who asked the question instead. There’s words… floating in the air between them. Neither of them are  _ saying _ the words, but they’re there. They’re almost tangible, Caspar feels like he could reach out and grab them, reach out and read them as clear as Lin’s name on his arm. As clear as  _ Ashe’s _ name on his arm. 

Ashe clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders. “I just… wanted a change of scenery, I suppose.” 

“Well if you ever find yourself with too much time between your classes, you’re welcome to visit. I’m always interested in discussing literature,” Linhardt hums. Caspar barely registers that he’s going out of his way to invite Ashe over. 

…

The tent flap rustles. Caspar weakly turns his head to look in its direction. His eyes are bleary with a haze that comes with being on the edge of consciousness, but he recognizes the blue uniform and the starlight hair of his lover. Ashe settles on his knees near him and Caspar feels his warm hands wrap around his. 

“How is he doing?” Ashe asks. He mumbles something, and so does another voice, before Ashe is gently rolling Caspar onto his side. A throb of pain rolls over him like a slow wave made of honey. It’s horrible. “Shh, it’s just for a few seconds,” Ashe coos. 

“He’s alive,” The other voice mutters in return. No, wait. This is a real voice. Dream Caspar recognizes him, of course, but real-life-Caspar does too. He can’t see him, can’t will his body to turn around and look at him, because as always this is just a dream and he has no control, but… But then gentle fingertips prod over his hip and side and press waves of magic into his wound. “Reckless as always. If he keeps this up I may stop healing him. I deteste blood, and now it’s all over my favorite blanket.” 

Ashe chuckles, but there’s a hint of sorrow to it. “With any luck this war won’t drag on much longer.” 

“That won’t wash the blood out of my blanket.”

“I will,” Ashe offers. Between the two of them they lay Caspar back down… and he realizes now he’s not on the ground or on a cot or bed--he never was. He’s laying with his head in Linhardt’s lap. Lin--his Lin! Well, mostly. This one is dressed in robes, but he’s leaning over Caspar and patting his cheek. Caspar wants to reach out to him, he wants to hold him, but all he can do in this dream is grumble in pain and wince in his efforts to smile.

Linhardt smiles too, but damn his is much prettier. He drags the pad of his thumb past Caspar’s cheek the way he does when he wants to soothe him--the way  _ real  _ Linhardt does when he wants to soothe  _ real  _ Caspar. He taps his thumb thoughtfully on the apple of Caspar’s cheek. “Are you awake, dear?”

Caspar wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's been ages, are there any caslinashe people still out there????

**Author's Note:**

> when will there be more caslinashe fics and also follow me on twitter @dorkpatroller


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